


Just Give Me One More Horizon

by perfect_plan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Guilt, M/M, Military, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War Veteran Steve Rogers, bookstore, small mentions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5256461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_plan/pseuds/perfect_plan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers returns home after eight years in the military and finds it hard adapting back to civilian life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Give Me One More Horizon

When Steve stepped off of the plane and back onto American soil for the first time in eight years, he thought he would feel relieved and maybe a little hopeful. Instead, he just felt lost. Eight years in the Marines and Special Forces and he was finally home. He wanted to feel happy but he wasn't, just unsure of what he was supposed to do with his life now. Sam was there to meet him at arrivals; he made it through passport control and customs easily - everything he owned was in one large duffel bag and a backpack. Just like that, his military career was over.

"Hey big guy," Sam said with a huge smile and pulled Steve into a hug.

Steve smiled into Sam's shoulder. "Hey Sammy."

Sam pulled back and held Steve at arm's length. "You look good."

"Well, I feel like shit," Steve chuckled.

Sam grinned and slapped him on the back. "Come on; I'll show you your new apartment, get you settled and then we'll grab lunch."

They made small talk in Sam's car on the way to Steve's new home. Sam had arranged everything for him which he didn't think he could ever thank him enough for. Steve had no family and very few friends and he already knew that this was going to be hard. The apartment was in Brooklyn in a nice brownstone on the third floor. It was small but comfy, furnished with the basics and with large windows that let in a lot of light.

"I know it's not much to look at right now, but the rent's reasonable and you're close to most things. It's a nice neighborhood," Sam said and cranked open one of the windows.

"Don't be silly, it's just what I need and it's a nice size." Steve sat down on the second-hand couch and rested his elbows on his knees. "Thanks Sam," he said softly. "This means a lot to me."

Sam came over and sat beside him. "I know this is going to be tough, readjusting to civilian life. Hell, I did it myself. But I'm here for you, pal. No matter what. Don't ever feel like you can't call me day or night."

Steve nodded. "I just...don't know what I'm supposed to do now. Marines to normal life. What am I meant to do?"

"That's something you have to figure out for yourself, I'm afraid. You've got time. Enjoy yourself. Do what makes you happy."

Steve ran a hand through his short blond hair. "I just wish I knew what the hell that was."

Sam stood up. "Well, let's start with food. There's an awesome sandwich place down the street. My treat."

Steve grinned. "Pastrami and mustard is exactly what I want out of my life right now."

They walked down to the sandwich place and grabbed a table after ordering. Steve sat back and sipped his iced tea, watching the people out on the sidewalk going about their lives.

"You're going to come to the VA, right?" Sam asked. He had worked at the VA for three years now, getting out of the Marines before Steve and helping other vets with adjusting back into their lives.

Steve nodded. "I get the feeling you won't take no for an answer on that one."

"Damn right. But seriously, it'll be good for you. Don't hold onto everything yourself; I know you too well."

Steve watched a couple walk hand in hand down the street, laughing and easy with each other. He wondered if he would ever have that. "I won't," he said.

***

Steve found it hard to settle into a routine that first week. He would go to bed at 10pm exhausted but wake at 3am, alert and on edge. He would often hear the tail-end of a siren or a car that had backfired and knew that his brain was still wired into the sounds of random gunfire and explosions in the distance. He would just go to the small bathroom and wash his face, trying not to look at his reflection in the mirror, get dressed and go for a run. He liked being out when no-one else was, his feet pounding the sidewalk the only sound in the early morning. He would watch the sunrise from the park and then go back home and have a shower, maybe take a nap. He tried to go to the gym a couple of times but he felt awkward and self-conscious and hurried out and back to his apartment. He did his own circuits at home.

He went to the VA, listening but not participating. He knew that Sam wouldn't push him and he would talk eventually. At the moment everything just felt a little too raw. He went to a bar with Sam and a couple of other people from the group after a meeting; Carol had been a pilot and was loud and funny. Rhodey was a little more reserved but had a wicked dry sense of humor. Listening to the others chat and joke, Steve didn't feel like himself. He felt removed from the group, found that the longer they stayed at the bar with its noise and clamor, the more he wanted to leave. It wasn't the company - he liked Carol and Rhodey - he just needed quiet and his apartment and to be on his own where it felt safe. But he stayed because he didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, itching in his own skin and trying his best to enjoy himself. Sam caught his eye a couple of times and gave him a "you okay?" flicker of the eyebrow.

Steve just smiled back and shrugged and carried on pretending that everything was fine.

***

He had a look on the internet to see what jobs were available and started to panic a little when he realized he couldn't do any of them. He had no experience in retail or in offices. He couldn't fix cars, he couldn't teach. All he knew was combat and reconnaissance and doing things to ensure that others wouldn't have to. Now that he was out of that situation...what could he do? He had to serve some purpose, there had to be _something_. But the longer he thought about it, the more he thought that there wasn't a place for him here anymore. He didn't like that feeling.

Things that used to be easy seemed harder. He left the apartment and went to get some milk one morning at the local convenience store. The cashier tried to make small talk with him, just chatting about the weather and Steve didn't know what to say back. It was stupid - it was just the weather, but he stared back at the guy like he had been talking a language he couldn't understand.

He paid for his milk and hurried out, leaving the cashier confused and no doubt thinking that he was completely nuts. He wouldn't be going back to that store again.

***

"Steve Rogers? I'm Charles. Please come on in."

His new therapist was British with a mop of brown hair and bright eyes. His office was cluttered but in a cosy way and he led Steve over to the large picture window where there were two comfy looking armchairs. Steve had been tense all morning before his appointment but could feel the tightness in his shoulders easing already.

"Can I get you a drink? I've got soda and coffee and tea of course. Lots of tea." Charles started to count on his fingers. "Earl Grey, Lady Grey, Lapsang, Green, Peppermint, Darjeeling, Oolong..."

Steve chuckled. "Sure. Tea sounds nice. I have no idea what's good though."

Charles got up and walked over to a counter top with a small kettle and set it to boil. "I like black Lady Grey. Want to dive right in? Milk is for lightweights."

Steve laughed. He liked this guy already. "Let's do it."

Charles poured them both a mug and handed one to Steve before he sat down and shuffled his papers. Steve sniffed the tea; it smelled like oranges.

"So, eight years in the Marines. It must be quite a change for you to be back here." Charles sat easily in his chair, just like they were having a normal conversation and he wouldn't be analysing Steve's every move.

Steve felt himself tense up again and gripped his mug a little tighter. "It's fine."

Charles smiled softly. "Steve, I'm not here to analyse your every move. Whatever you choose to say or talk about, there's no right or wrong answer."

Steve started a little at that; was he a mind reader? He nodded and looked down into his tea. "I'm sorry. I just...I don't seem to feel much at the moment."

"Don't apologize. It's understandable that you're a little overwhelmed and your brain is dealing with it the best way it knows how. I've never been a soldier but I can imagine that you train yourself to deal with and think about certain situations in a way that means having to shut parts of yourself down."

Steve nodded. "That's...yes." He threw Charles a small glance.

Charles laughed. "Oh, I know that look. I'm not a mind reader although a lot of patients swear that I am. I just know how people tick. It's always been one of my talents. You'll get used to it."

Steve took a sip of his tea; it was good. "I hope so. I'll be thinking about rainbows and unicorns from now on just in case."

They talked for an hour about Steve's apartment, his early morning runs and his strong desire to not want to leave his home most of the time, how he was finding it harder to relate to people and interact with them. He told Charles about the grocery store and when he had no idea what to say to a stranger making small talk.

"I think when you feel that way, go for a walk. Interact with the world a little if you can, whether it's saying hello to someone in a store if you can or just smiling at someone. I know it's hard and the safest option makes you feel at ease but it can also be the quickest way to slip. I won't lie; depression is common in soldiers returning from combat and it's something that might effect you in different ways. I can never know how you truly feel. However, if you talk to me we can work through a lot of stuff together. Everything between us stays in this room and I don't judge." Charles's eyes were gentle and understanding and Steve was glad that Sam had recommended him.

"Thank you," Steve said and he meant it. "And thanks for the tea - it was good. Better than I expected."

Charles stood up and gave a little fist pump. "Another convert. I'll give you a few bags to take home - I get it sent over to me from England."

Steve smiled and held out his hand and they shook. "It...it might take me a while. To talk about the big things. I want to try, though."

Charles patted Steve on the shoulder. "That's all I can ask of you. It takes time, Steve. We'll get there."

***

Steve had planned on going straight home but he deliberately made himself walk the long way back; if he didn't, he knew he wouldn't want to leave his apartment again for the rest of the day. He bought some oranges from a small grocery store and said hello to the cashier. The cashier smiled brightly at him and told him to enjoy his oranges and that was it. He breathed a sigh of relief when he left - he had engaged with someone and it had been easy. It wouldn't always be but for now, he felt good.

He turned down an unfamiliar street, not worried about getting lost, happy to explore and riding on the positive feelings from his session. He thought he could talk to Charles. Maybe about things he couldn't even talk about with Sam. He also thought that was why Sam had sent him there in the first place.

Up ahead was a bookstore, second-hand by the looks of it, with big windows and lots of books on display, so many he could hardly even see inside the store. Steve was suddenly very taken by the idea of buying a stack of books to take home and read. He had none at the moment and had read any chance he could back in Afghanistan and wherever he ended up afterwards. The store was called Red Room and Steve hesitated slightly before he made himself go in.

It was crammed full of shelves of books and had cosy lighting. Instrumental music played softly - something classical he didn't recognize - and he was already taken by the smell of the books. It was calm. A guy with short brown hair was working at the counter and smiled at Steve when he walked in.

"Hi there."

"Hi," Steve said and smiled back.

The guy twirled a pen in his fingers. "If you need any help, don't be afraid to ask."

Steve nodded. "Thank you."

The guy smiled brightly again and got back to his work. Steve wandered through the rows of book cases. They had everything here: Fiction, non-fiction, picture books, art books, history, photography, cookery books. Steve thought he wanted some fiction and walked to that section but he had no idea what to pick up. Everything was alphabetical by author and he thought he could spent a day in here just checking out every shelf. The longer he looked, the less decisive he found himself getting and he started to feel stupid.

 _This shouldn't be so hard,_ Steve thought to himself. _It's a book. Why are you getting so worked up?_ He didn't want to be that guy who panicked over everything. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, listening to the music in the store and managed to calm down a little.

He glanced back towards the front counter; the guy was shuffling through a stack of paper, a slight frown on his face. Steve wasn't sure if he should bother him or not but the guy had offered help. That was his job. Steve wanted to walk out of here with one book at least but he knew that if he stood here just staring at the hundreds of books before him, he would eventually give up and go home empty-handed and he didn't want that to happen.

He took a deep breath and approached the counter. "Um, excuse me...?"

The guy looked up and smiled. "Need some help after all?"

Steve shuffled slightly. "Yeah, I uh...this is going to sound so silly but I can't decide what I want. Can you recommend me something?"

The guy smiled wider. "Hey, no problem! I love recommending people books any chance I get." He put down his pen and stepped out from behind the counter. "Are you after anything in particular?"

"Just fiction, I guess."

"Any genre you prefer?"

Steve floundered for a moment. "I...I don't mind. I'm happy with whatever you recommend."

"Are you sure you want to give me cart blanche on this?" the guy asked with one eyebrow quirked. "You may regret it."

Steve managed a chuckle. "I'm willing to take that chance."

The guy grinned at Steve and headed towards the far end of the fiction section. "Okay, now don't turn and run when I offer you this first one but this book is _great_." He held up The Hundred Secret Senses by Amy Tan. "I was forced to read this by my boss and as much as I hate to give her credit, I enjoyed the shit out of it."

Steve took the book and quickly skimmed the back. "Sounds good."

The guy laughed. "Oh wow, that was the quickest sale I ever made! Not that it's all about the money for me." He suddenly walked back down the row and searched for something else. He pulled another book off of the shelf and handed it to Steve. "Okay, I'm going to mess things up a little. _This_ book is amazing."

Steve glanced at the title: Geek Love by Katherine Dunn. He read the synopsis. "I don't know. Sounds kind of..." he couldn't find the word he was looking for.

"Oh it is," the guy said with a grin, "but it's really good. Tell you what - if you don't like it bring it back and I'll refund you."

"I couldn't do that..."

But the guy was already heading off to another shelf. "We do it all the time," he called back to Steve. "Hey, how are you with sci-fi?"

For the next twenty minutes, the bookstore guy pulled out book after book and chattered away, not too bothered that Steve wasn't as vocal but he was interested; the guy's enthusiasm for the books he kept handing him was enjoyable and Steve just went with it. The store was quiet and no other customers had come in so he guessed the guy had time to help him out.

"Okay, so that's a few more than I meant to recommend," the guy said with a frown, looking at the stack of books Steve was holding.

"I'll take them all," Steve said.

The guy tried to hold back a smile. "You don't have to do that to humor me, you know."

Steve shook his head. "I'm not. I haven't got any books at the moment. I...just moved back here and my bookcase is a little bare."

The guy led him back to the counter. "Okay, I believe you. I'm still going to give you a 15% discount though." He started to ring up the books.

"Oh, I couldn't ask you - "

The guy waved his hand. "My boss does it all the time. If she says anything, I'll just tell her I saw her do it and I'm picking up her bad habits. Besides, it was nice to babble about books for a while.

"Thank you. For the babbling," Steve said. He handed the guy some money.

"It was my pleasure." Bookstore guy handed Steve a bag with his books in. "Hey, come back and let me know what you thought." He flashed Steve another smile.

Steve nodded and held up a hand, smiling back. He left the shop and decided to head home, feeling better than he had for a while.

***

"Hey man, how's it going?"

Sam called him just as Steve was finishing dinner. He had started Geek Love while he was eating and as hesitant as he had been about it, now he couldn't put it down.

"Hey Sam. Yeah, I'm okay. How are you?"

"Not bad. Long day." Steve heard Sam flop down onto his couch. "How was your appointment with Charles?"

"It was better than I thought. He seems nice. I'm seeing him again on Friday." Steve took his plate to the sink and rinsed it, his phone clasped between his ear and shoulder.

"Good. I think you'll like him; he's helped a lot of vets get through some tough times. I speak from experience."

Steve wandered through into the living room and sat down on the couch. "He gave me some tea to take home."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, he does that. But seriously, how are you?"

Steve sighed and thought for a moment. "Not great."

"Steve, you know you can talk to me any time," Sam said softly.

"I know, Sammy. I just..."

"Not yet?"

"Not yet."

***

"I feel empty a lot of the time," Steve said.

Charles laced his fingers together. "How do you mean?"

Steve was aware that Charles knew what he meant, he just wanted Steve to say it because being vocal means that the problem becomes something tangible that they can work on. It's hard for him to be vocal about these things; Steve had always been one for pushing his own feelings aside and concentrating on the people around him - the men in his unit, civilians that needed help. But now he has nobody but himself and he's not used to putting himself first.

"It's like...," Steve frowned and looked over to Charles's bookcase as if the correct answer was on it amongst the books and ornaments. "It's like I left myself behind and now I don't know who I am. There's...there's nothing in here. I feel like I'll never be the person I was again." His voice broke on the last word and he quickly wiped at his eyes.

Charles's face was sad and Steve knew that it wasn't some act that he put on for his patients. He actually cared. "Steve, I can't tell you that we can fix everything. You've spent a portion of your adult life in combat and situations that someone like me can't even begin to imagine; experienced things that can change a person forever." He put down his notepad and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "But you're still Steve Rogers. He's still in there, buried under a lot of pain and sadness and I'm here to help you clear away the rubble and find him again. He might not be exactly who he was before, but he's there. You're not empty."

Steve nodded and got his hanky out of his pocket, wiping at the tears that didn't seem to want to stop now. His sessions with Charles were nothing like he had initially expected. He had expected something clinical; dozens of questions and analysis, long words that he thought he'd have to look up after each appointment. They weren't like that at all; they just talked. Charles didn't push him with anything and whatever Steve chose to talk about was discussed. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried. He would never cry in front of Sam but here it felt okay. It felt good.

"I'm sorry," Steve said and twisted his handkerchief in his hands.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Steve," Charles said. "This time is yours."

Steve left the session with a weight lifted; he knew it would come back but for now, his mind was clear and quiet. Charles had given him another baggy of Lady Grey tea to take home.

"I feel like a dealer or something," Charles had joked.

Steve had smiled. "Thank you; it's really good. I should get some myself."

He was meeting Sam later for dinner, already feeling slightly anxious and hoping that Sam had picked somewhere quiet. He didn't want to be nervous about going out all the time but he felt too on edge around large groups now. He also knew that shutting himself off from everybody wasn't going to help either and that it was too easy to just go home again and be alone.

Steve decided to go back to the bookstore, to thank the guy who had helped him for all of the books; he had finished Geek Love and was already burning his way through another. He lost himself in the books and he knew he would go and get more when he was done. The decision to go back there made him feel good.

The day was warm and quiet and Steve turned down the street that Red Room was on and when he stepped inside, the music and the smell of the books was comforting and familiar. A woman with red hair was behind the counter today and looked up at him when he closed the door.

"Hi there," she said with a warm smile.

"Hello." Steve walked to the counter and fidgeted on his feet. "I was just wondering if the guy with the brown hair is here? He helped me to choose some books a few days ago and I just wanted to thank him again."

The woman's face seemed to brighten in understanding - over what, Steve wasn't sure - and she smiled even wider. "I'm afraid that James isn't working today but I'd be happy to take a message and pass it on to him?"

"Oh, I...I'll be back at some point but if you could just say that I really enjoyed Geek Love? It wasn't something that I would have ever picked out for myself."

The woman scribbled on a post-it note. "I'll be sure to let him know. Is there a name to go with that message?" She glanced up at him, her eyes glittering with expectation.

"Just Steve."

"Alright, Just Steve. I will certainly let him know. We pride ourselves on excellent customer service here at Red Room and I'm very pleased that James made an impression on you."

"He took some time out of his day for me, that was all. It was nice." Steve backed away towards the door. "Thank you."

The woman waved as he left and Steve went back home, a little disappointed that the book guy - James - hadn't been working.

***

Sam took Steve to a very quiet Italian place for dinner and Steve must have looked visibly relieved because Sam punched him lightly on the shoulder as they sat down at a table near the back.

"What, you thought I'd be taking you to the most crowded, noisy restaurant I could find?"

"No, no, I just - "

Sam chuckled. "Dude, I get it. Give me some credit." He gave Steve an understanding look. "I just thought it would be nice to get out together. If you feel uncomfortable at any time then just let me know. Dinner's on me and that counts if it's finished or unfinished, okay?"

Steve rubbed his neck. "Thanks Sam. I don't want to be like this all the time. I really don't."

"You won't be but I know that it takes time. Steve, you don't have to apologize to me or anyone else, okay? Now, every time you say sorry to me from this moment on, you owe me a dollar. And I'll be counting."

Steve laughed and started to relax. "It's a deal."

Dinner was fun; Sam had always been easy to talk to and hang out with and Steve was forever grateful that they had met on one of his tours. Sam didn't expect anything from him which always made Steve feel a little guilty; he tried to put as much into the friendship as he could but he wondered if Sam felt like he was always doing all of the work.

"What's that look for?" Sam asked, finishing the last of his vongole.

Steve wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Sor - " He caught himself. "Nothing. Just trying not to think so much."

Sam grinned. "That was almost a sorry. Come on, daddy needs some new shoes."

Steve opened his wallet and threw two dollars onto the table. "Back pay."

They both laughed together and ordered some more beer.

***

Steve worked up the courage to go back to the bookstore a couple of days later. He had been fretting that going back in and leaving a message for James had been weird but when he finally made himself walk in through the door, James was there and looked genuinely happy to see him.

"Hey! I was hoping you would come back in. Nat - that's my boss - gave me your message. I'm so glad you liked the book."

Steve couldn't help but feel relieved and nodded. "I loved it. It was so weird and sad."

"I know, right? That one stuck with me for a long time after I read it. So what are you reading now?"

"Well, I finished Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy which I enjoyed too and I've just started on Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?"

James placed a hand over his heart and gazed dreamily into the middle distance. "Nothing makes me happier than passing on the gift of reading to another human being." He wiped an imaginary tear away from his cheek.

Steve held back a laugh. "You picked out some good books."

James grinned again. "It's my job but luckily, I really enjoy it. I'm Bucky, by the way." He held out his hand.

Steve shook; James - Bucky - had a good handshake, firm and warm. Steve often judged a person by their handshake; a lot of people he ended up not getting on with had handshakes like wet fish. "Oh, your boss said your name was James?"

"Ugh, yeah. I prefer Bucky - she knows how much being called James annoys me."

"I'm Steve."

Bucky held up a pink post-it note. "I know."

"Ah, yeah. I just...wanted to say thanks again." He didn't really want to leave; the store was calm and comfortable and Bucky was easy to talk to. He was finding it harder to connect with people these days but there was something about Bucky that was easy and relatable but he didn't want to be an idiot and outstay a stranger's kindness.

"Think you might be up for some more suggestions? I mean, I'm not trying to get you to spend money or anything but I've got a couple more books in mind that I think you'd enjoy." Bucky almost looked nervous.

Steve felt reassured that he hadn't been making a fool of himself by coming back, that Bucky seemed to actually want to talk to him. "Sure. I trust your taste."

Bucky beamed and stepped out from behind the counter and beckoned Steve to follow him down to the fiction section. "So how are you finding the Dick?"

Steve started slightly. "The...the what?"

Bucky started to scan the shelves. "Phillip K. Dick. Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?"

"Oh! Oh...it's interesting." Steve willed his ears not to turn bright red.

"It's _really_ interesting to compare it to Blade Runner - they're like two different versions of the same idea." Bucky finally found what he was looking for and straightened up. He was slightly shorter than Steve.

"I've never seen Blade Runner," Steve said.

Bucky gave a low whistle. "You're missing out. You should totally watch it after you've read the book; I'd love to know what you think about it." He held up two novels. "Okay, another one of my favorite authors: Ira Levin. Want to try out Rosemary's Baby and The Stepford Wives? One's horror, one's kind of sci-fi, both are social commentary with awesome female leads and creepy undertones."

Steve took the books and quickly scanned the synopsis on the back of each one. "Sounds good."

Bucky chuckled. "You're the most agreeable customer I've ever had - this is great!"

They walked back to the counter and Bucky rang up the two books. "You mentioned before that you'd only just moved back to New York. Where were you living before?"

"I...I was away. Overseas."

Bucky made an intrigued noise as he put Steve's books in a paper bag. "Extended vacation? Work?" He handed Steve the books.

Steve was starting to feel anxious and he didn't know why; Bucky's questions were just interested small talk and there was nothing wrong with telling the truth but he somehow thought that he would be drawing unwanted attention to himself. He didn't like lying though.

Steve cleared his throat. "Um, military."

Bucky looked up at him, his face softening. "Afghanistan?" he asked.

Steve swallowed. He hadn't even really talked to Charles about any of this yet. "Yes. Other places too." He was aware that he was clutching his books too tightly.

"Thank you for your service," Bucky said. The sentiment was sincere in his voice; some people thanked him but it always seemed like a mechanical response - like they felt they _had_ to say it. Steve was never entirely sure how to react.

All he could manage was a nod. "Thank you."

They were both silent for a few seconds and then Steve smiled weakly and held up his books. "Thanks again." He started for the door.

Bucky sounded flustered. "Hey, let me know what you think of them, okay?" When Steve glanced back at him, Bucky looked worried, like maybe he'd said something he wasn't supposed to, his brow pinched and his mouth twisted.

"I will. Bye." Steve hurried outside and headed straight home, feeling the immediate relief of safety within his apartment.

***

He fell asleep reading but awoke with a start a few hours later, sweating and with his heart racing. There had been an explosion in his dream, warped by time and memory but very much based on an experience in the Eastern Block. Steve panted slightly, confused as to why his lamp was on and then feeling the book beneath him which he must have rolled onto. He sat up, shaky and disoriented and tugged off his t-shirt which was almost soaked through, tossing it into his hamper in the corner of the bedroom. He got up on wobbly legs and went to the window and cranked it open, resting his head against the frame and drawing in several deep, noisy breaths. He glanced sideways at his digital clock on the nightstand. It was 2:33am. He didn't think he wanted to go back to sleep right now.

Steve went through into the small bathroom and washed his face; he ran a wet washcloth over his neck and chest, wiping away the sweat and glanced up at his reflection. He looked terrible; there were dark circles around his eyes and he looked gaunt and miserable. He changed into a clean t-shirt and grabbed his book from the bed, intending to spend a couple of hours reading in the living room. As he sat down on the couch, he noticed how much his hands were shaking. He put down the book and took some more deep breaths, concentrating on feeling his heartbeat return to a normal pace.

He didn't want to be alone in this but he didn't want to burden other people either. Sam had been through a lot too, as much as he had. He would understand but Steve was hesitant to add his own ghosts to his friend's; Sam had worked hard enough on getting his in check and although he'd offered many times to help and listen, Steve just couldn't do that to him. He really should open up to Charles. Maybe if he told him some of the things that had stuck with him then the dreams wouldn't be so bad, almost like letting a trapped animal out of a cage; the memories would run away and he'd only catch glimpses of them from time to time.

He made himself two promises: That at his next session, he would tell Charles something about his time in the military and he would go back to the bookstore and talk to Bucky again.

He opened his book and started to read.

***

Steve twisted his handkerchief in his hands and stared at the carpet in Charles's office. It was some muted pattern in browns and oranges and he couldn't work out if there was an image in the fabric or if it was just random noise. He was aware that he hadn't said anything for fifteen minutes. Charles was patient though, giving Steve his space. He seemed to sense that Steve was working up to something and just sat with his notepad in his lap, sipping his tea and looking thoughtfully over to his bookshelves.

"I watched a lot of friends die," Steve finally managed to blurt out.

Charles looked at him, his face attentive. He didn't say anything, just nodded gently for him to go on.

"I held a few as they...they..." he chewed the inside of his cheek. This was so much harder than he'd thought it would be.

Again, Charles said nothing and Steve was glad; he was letting him work at his own pace, not offering prompts which he knew would probably result in Steve shutting down.

"I held them as they died and took their tags, for their families," Steve said and closed his eyes. "It became this unspoken thing that when someone died, their tags went to me. I was honoured that the men in my units thought so much of me but...it became this _millstone_ around my neck. I hated it. I've always felt guilty for hating it."

And then just like that it all came out, like a dam bursting and he told Charles everything: How he felt like a coward for sending the dog tags back to loved ones with rigid, impersonal letters; the screams that woke him up, cold and shaking in the middle of the night; the horrific mission in Chechnya; the choices he'd had to make like having to leave Morita behind to die or risk the lives of eight other men; how Dugan had died; how he sometimes saw blood on the street instead of a rain puddle and how it made him tremble for hours afterward. The words just left him and Charles took them.

When Steve finally stopped talking, his throat felt raw and he hadn't realized that he'd been crying. He took a few shuddery breaths and slumped back in his chair. Charles ran a hand through his hair and then put his notepad aside and leaned toward Steve.

"You been holding on to all of that for a long time," he said.

Steve nodded. "My friend Sam keeps asking me to talk but I can't, not to him. He's been through so much and I don't want to..." he trailed off. "I haven't been to the VA in weeks. I thought I could handle it all myself. But I can't."

"Steve, you can't think that you're going to burden people all the time. That's why I'm here and believe me, Sam wouldn't offer if he didn't mean it. You're carrying a lot of guilt and that's understandable but you have to be able to forgive yourself too. You're a human being; you did what you could under terrible circumstances. You made the best decisions in those moments. I know it's hard. I know it's easy to tell you all of this and not know what you went through. But you're a good man, Steve. There's a reason you were made a Captain and why you and a lot of other good men came back home alive. I think you took a big step today, telling me what you did. We can work through a lot but one thing I really want you to try and focus on is being able to _forgive yourself_. Do you think you can maybe start to consider it?"

Steve let out a long, tired sigh. "I...I can try."

Charles nodded and picked his notepad back up. "I want you to do me two favors, okay? Number one: Before our next session, I want you to go to another VA meeting. Will you do that?"

Steve nodded.

"Please go to one. You're not alone in this, Steve and I think it will help you a lot to fully realize that."

"Alright. I will. I really will."

Charles smiled. "Favor number two: Don't let your tea go cold next time; this shit is expensive to get sent over from the UK and each wasted bag is like a knife to my heart." He pointed to Steve's now cold cup of tea that he had completely forgotten about.

Steve stared at Charles for a few seconds and then started to laugh. He was tired and emotional but he let himself laugh and Charles joined in. When they had finally calmed down, Charles walked Steve to the door.

"You can have good things," Charles said and put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "You just have to let yourself."

Steve gave him an exhausted smile. "I want to."

***

Steve wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep; his session with Charles had completely drained him but in a good way. He thought that maybe tonight he could sleep without nightmares. He wanted to do something else before he went back to his apartment though.

When he walked into Red Room, Bucky was at one of the shelves, sorting through a large pile of cookery books. He looked up when Steve came through the door and immediately put the books down.

"Hi! Steve, hi. How are you?" His large gray-blue eyes were so earnest and soulful.

Steve fidgeted on the spot. "I'm good. I just wanted to say sorry for the other day. For making you feel bad."

Bucky ran a hand through his short brown hair. "You didn't, not at all. I thought I'd made _you_ feel uncomfortable and I...jeez, I felt like such an _idiot_." He stepped towards Steve, his hands on his hips, brow knitted in worry. "It wasn't my intention at all to make you...I mean, I didn't know what to say and then I said "thank you for your service" like a moron and embarrassed you..."

Steve smiled. "It's okay - it was nice. A lot of people say it and don't really mean it. You meant it. I'm just finding it hard to adjust...being back...but I'm trying and..." He waved a hand incoherently. "I just wanted to say thanks again, for the books and all. They've been helping." He made to wave and turn to the door but Bucky stepped forward again.

"Hey, Nat just went to go and get some donuts and stuff - why don't you stay and join us?"

Steve had no doubt that this was a genuine offer, not an attempt at further apology or pity. "Oh, I don't know..."

Bucky's mouth turned up in a crooked smile. "They're really good donuts," he said and then cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

Steve couldn't help but smile. "Okay. Sure."

Bucky's smile widened. "Awesome! I'll grab a couple of mugs; I think Nat was getting coffee too but you can share mine."

Before Steve could say anything else, Bucky ducked into the back room and out of sight. The front door to the store opened and the redhead from before - Nat - walked in carrying a large box with three paper cups of coffee balanced precariously on top. When she saw Steve she smiled.

"Well hello there, Just Steve. Back for more books?"

"Um, sort of..."

Bucky appeared from the back carrying two mugs. "Great timing, Nat. Steve's here for donuts."

Nat put the box and cups down on the counter. "Well, hopefully there's something in here you like."

"Why do you have three coffees?" Bucky asked, taking a huge bite out of a chocolate donut.

"They screwed up my order so I got an extra." She grinned and passed one of the cups to Steve. "Lucky for me."

Steve took the coffee, slightly perplexed and watched as Bucky and Nat squabbled over the donuts. Did people just do this? He wasn't sure but as he took a sip of his coffee, he felt...included.

Nat held up a donut. "You like raspberry? You _have_ to try these."

Steve bit into one of the raspberry donuts and nodded. "Wow, that's great."

Bucky grinned around another mouthful of his own donut and Steve started to relax. Bucky and Nat did most of the talking but he didn't feel left out. The banter between them was easy and fun and they obviously cared a lot about each other. If Bucky had mentioned what had happened the other day to Nat at all, she didn't show it. Neither of them made him feel uncomfortable.

Nat finished her coffee and picked up the donut box to take it out the back with her. "Good for us that Wednesday afternoons are pretty dead." She rolled her eyes and opened the box again when Bucky made grabby hands for another donut.

"Can I give you any money for the coffee?" Steve asked.

"Dude, it was free. I'm not going to charge you for free coffee." With that she gave Bucky a kick and headed out the back.

Steve wiped his fingers on his handkerchief and glanced up at Bucky. "Thanks. That was great."

"Any time," Bucky said.

Steve indicated to the pile of books that Bucky had been sorting. "I guess I'll leave you to it."

"Let me know how the Levin books work out for you?" Bucky asked.

Steve smiled. "I will."

***

He went to a VA meeting the next day. Sam was overjoyed but tried not to show it. Carol was there and was elated too. Steve sat at the back and listened mostly, still not ready to talk to a room full of strangers just yet. The stories the other vets told were harrowing and familiar and Steve couldn't deny that there was some comfort in knowing that he wasn't alone in this. Not that he would have wished any of this on anyone but to know that he wasn't just stumbling in the dark gave him a little bit of hope.

He hung back after the meeting until Sam had finished talking to several of the other vets and clapped Steve hard on the back, smiling wide.

"I'm so glad you came back, man."

"I didn't say anything though. Again."

Sam picked up his bag and they headed out. "You talk when you want to. Just know that this will always be here."

"I know. And I know you're here too," Steve replied and nudged Sam with his shoulder.

Sam nudged back with a grin. "So what have you been up to?"

They started across the parking lot to Sam's car. "Running. Reading a lot. I found this really awesome little bookstore and the people who work there have been helpful with recommending books."

"That's great, man. Anything on the job front?"

Steve sighed. "I haven't been looking to be honest. I've got some savings and I just...I need a break."

Sam unlocked his car and threw his bag in the trunk. "I agree that you need a break but make sure you have other things in your life too. Want a ride anywhere?"

"Nah, it's a nice day. I'll walk home. I'll come to Thursday's meeting."

Sam gave Steve a hug. "I know it's difficult but I think it'll be worth it. We'll grab a drink afterwards, just the two of us. Sound good?"

Steve hugged Sam back, almost not wanting to let go - he realized how much he needed the warmth of another human being against him. "I'd like that. Take care, Sam."

He waved when Sam passed him on the street and shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked. _I want to do this_ , he thought to himself. _I want to have a life that isn't fighting and pain and guilt_. Maybe he could have it. He felt hope bloom in his chest and strolled home through the park.

***

On Friday morning, it was a gorgeous day outside; warm and clear and Steve, even though he wanted to stay home and read, made himself go out for a walk. It was too lovely a day to stay inside and he wanted to push himself, to not always go with the easiest and safest option. He was a few blocks away from his apartment and he already knew where he was heading.

When he walked into Red Room, there was nobody behind the counter. He heard a "Just a sec!" from the back room and waited.

Bucky came out looking flustered and harried, but smiled in relief when he saw it was Steve. "Hey man! Sorry if I sounded pissed; Nat got really sick and had to go home so I stupidly said I'd hold the fort. Up until now, it's been really busy and I just had like two seconds to go and get a drink or something." He groaned and rubbed his face.

"Want me to go and grab you some lunch?" Steve offered.

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that."

"I literally have nowhere to be or anything to do; I don't mind helping out." He hoped that Bucky would say yes.

Bucky's face softened. "That's really cool of you. I could really use a sandwich and an espresso. Are you sure you don't mind?"

Steve grinned. "I wouldn't have offered otherwise. Any kind of sandwich?" He headed back to the door.

"Wait a sec," Bucky said and went to the cash register. "Nat said I could treat myself as an apology for leaving me in the lurch. Get yourself something too and we can eat together. That is if you don't mind staying."

Steve felt that warm hope in his chest again; being with people didn't have to be hard. It could be like this, easy and comfortable. Everything about the bookstore made him feel comfortable and he knew that when he'd left the house this morning, he was going to come here no matter what.

"There's a place around the corner that does these incredible pickle and pastrami sandwiches?" Steve said, clutching the twenty Bucky had given him.

"Perfect," Bucky said. "I really appreciate this, Steve. You have no idea."

Steve smiled shyly and headed out to the sandwich place. He picked up a couple of sandwiches and two coffees and went back to the bookstore.

"I got you a double espresso," Steve said, putting the sandwiches and drinks down on the counter.

Bucky made a grateful noise and took a sip. "Oh yeah. That's the shit."

Steve laughed and Bucky grinned. They ate together at the counter; a few people wandered in but nobody bought anything, just lunchtime browsers killing an hour. They chatted together effortlessly; Bucky had an easy-going manner that made Steve feel relaxed. He was funny and smart and seemed interested in just about everything. He had a passion for working in the bookstore, although it hadn't always been his plan to get into this line of work.

"I studied Physics at NYU," he said as he brushed his sandwich crumbs from the counter, "but it was pretty disillusioning to see what I was actually qualified to go into job-wise afterwards - I mean, I was a good student but not a great one. I couldn't afford to do a Masters and I wouldn't have had a chance at a PhD placement so I took a break. Nat's been my friend for a long time and when she mentioned that she was thinking about taking on this store and was looking for help, I jumped at the chance. I haven't looked back. I'm still into all my science and physics stuff - I keep up with all the journals and I've even written a few articles for websites, but working in here makes me happy." He chuffed out a little laugh. "Not the most ambitious life but I like it."

Steve collected his own lunch trash together. "I don't think it's un-ambitious at all. There's too much pressure on people these days to feel like they have to achieve amazing things and that seems to make most people miserable when they feel like they can't or that they're falling behind with what everyone else is doing. Facebook doesn't help. Everyone else's life always seems so much more exciting because no-one posts about the bad stuff."

Bucky laughed and heaved a large box onto the counter. "You're absolutely right. I don't think many people take all of that into account. Well, you obviously do."

Steve shrugged. "Since coming back home I've been considering it all a lot more."

Bucky glanced at him, curious, but didn't pry. "Do you want to help me out with this? I need to price these books and get them out on the shelves. I mean, if you don't want to just say. I don't want you to think that I'm using you for slave labor or anything."

Steve chuckled, happy that Bucky wanted him to stay. "Sure. What do we do?"

Bucky showed Steve the system he and Nat used to gauge the quality of a second-hand book and what price it should be set at. They worked in silence for a little while, listening to the music playing softly over the speakers. Bucky helped out customers while Steve neatly wrote the prices of the books on the inside front covers in pencil.

"You're good at this," Bucky said when they were halfway through the box of books. "Very methodical."

Steve added another book to the finished pile. "That'll be my military training." He still found it hard to talk about his military career but he knew that it didn't do him any good to hold it all in.

Bucky just nodded. "What are you doing now? For work, I mean?"

"Um, nothing yet. I'm having some time off. Trying...trying to get my head together."

"Sounds like a good plan," Bucky said softly. Steve liked that he didn't try and get him to say more than he wanted to.

"I was thinking about maybe trying to get into art therapy at some point, but...I don't know."

"You draw?"

"I did. Haven't for a while. I kept journals while I was away." Steve thought about the eight or so sketchbooks tucked away at the back of his closet. He hadn't been able to bring himself to read any of them since he got back, worried that the drawings and memories would be too much. He chewed his lip nervously.

"It sounds like something you should pursue, when you're up to it, I mean." Bucky stacked his own priced books neatly. "Okay, I was thinking I would sort these into the relevant sections. Make them easier to put out."

A few more customers walked in and Steve was glad for both Bucky's change of subject, which he thought was deliberate on Bucky's part because he could tell Steve was getting uncomfortable, and the distraction. He hadn't even told Sam or Charles that he was considering going back to school. He knew he still had a long way to go in his own therapy and hopeful recovery and he wasn't even sure why he had told Bucky about his journals.

"I can put the books out; leave you free to deal with things up here?" Steve said.

Bucky frowned slightly. "Are you sure? You've done way more than you really should have today."

Steve picked up a stack of art books. "I don't mind. It's been a fun day."

Bucky's frown eased and he smiled. "Then be my guest. I've really appreciated the help."

Steve spent the rest of the afternoon putting out books and tidying up the shelves, listening half to the music in the store and half to Bucky's amusing patter as he spoke to customers. He certainly had a way about him and Steve smiled to himself whenever Bucky said something funny.

And then it was closing time. Bucky turned the door sign to closed and switched off the front lights. Steve stood by the counter as Bucky cashed up and they chatted about baseball, Bucky ribbing slightly about how behind Steve was on everything but it wasn't mean and Steve was enjoying the banter.

"Look, I can't thank you enough for helping me out today," Bucky said. "I'm pretty sure if I had been on my own, right now I'd be crying into some ice-cream. Can I at least give you some money for your time? Nat won't mind."

"I didn't do it for money," Steve said and Bucky's eyes were understanding; Steve had wanted to do this for himself.

Bucky nodded and closed the register drawer. "You'll come back, though? Just to hang out? You're pretty good company." He smiled a little and Steve felt the back of his neck turn pink.

"I'll come back," he said quietly.

Bucky switched off all the lights and they stepped out onto the street and Bucky locked up, turning to Steve when he was done and holding out a hand.

"Thanks again, Steve," he said, that bright smile still on his face.

Steve shook. "It was nice," was all he could think to say.

"I'd better get going; I'm babysitting my niece. She's four so I'm looking forward to a relaxing evening."

Steve chuckled. "Have fun. I'll...I'll see you."

Bucky waved and they headed off in opposite directions. As Steve walked home, he couldn't help but feel that he had achieved something big today.

***

"It's been a good week," Steve said. It was the next morning and he was in Charles's office.

Charles looked pleased. "How so?"

Steve took a sip of his tea. "I went to a VA meeting, I've been sleeping a little better. I helped out in a bookstore that I go to because they were short-staffed." He told Charles about Bucky and Nat and how much he liked Red Room, how it felt like a safe place and put him in a good head-space.

"I'm really pleased to hear all of this, Steve. It's the little steps that usually end up being the biggest, whether we notice or not."

"It's strange. I told Bucky something that I haven't even told you or Sam yet. It just came out while we were talking."

Charles didn't ask him what it was; he liked Steve to work up to things in his own time. "Sounds like he might be a friend, not just that guy at the bookstore."

Steve glanced down at his tea. "Maybe. I hope so. I mean, I'd like him to be. I don't have many friends."

Charles smiled. "Then I would run with it. If he likes talking to you too then why not strike up a friendship?"

Steve chuckled. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's easier than you think. It's good to see you happy, Steve."

Steve thought for a moment. "It'll take a while but...I think I can get there."

***

The next few weeks saw things getting better; Steve started to attend VA meetings twice a week. He still stayed quiet for the most part but took everything in, reeling slightly that so many people felt exactly the same way that he did. There was a lot of guilt, too many "I should haves" and it made him think that he could eventually start to forgive himself, that he didn't have to constantly wear it. There was another guy at the meetings, Frank, who had been like Steve - sitting at the back and not participating. Then he had stood up at the last meeting and talked about his time in Iraq, all the things that had happened and the decisions he had made. Steve had admired how much courage it must have taken him to finally tell people everything. He had walked up to Frank as they were leaving and thanked him, shaking his hand. Frank had looked bewildered but also a little relieved.

Steve began to open up to Charles, telling him his fears and insecurities, how he didn't think that he was being a good friend to Sam. However, when he finally admitted this to Sam over pizza, beer and a terrible movie about sharks in a tornado, Sam thumped him hard on the arm and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Steve, don't you ever think that. I mean it. Whatever is going on in your life, good or bad, don't you ever think that you're not being a good friend. I owe you so much, you don't even know."

Steve didn't know what he would have done had he not met Sam. He couldn't quite put into words what their friendship meant to him.

The best thing about the last few weeks though had been Bucky.

Steve made regular trips to the bookstore, so much so that Nat had even bought a mug for him that sat out back next to the new coffee pot. Steve had been worried that Nat would get annoyed that he kept coming in, distracting Bucky from his work but she would shove a stack of books into his arms and tell him that if he was going to stay, he might as well make himself useful and put out some stock. She didn't seem bothered at all by his almost constant presence, greeting him warmly when he dropped by and chatting to him about her time in Russia as an exchange student.

A friendship had definitely blossomed between him and Bucky, even if it hadn't quite left the confines of the store just yet. Bucky was always bright and cheerful, quick to make Steve laugh and almost keen to do it as often as he could. Steve started to come out of himself around Bucky too, feeling a little more like the man he had once been and gaining back some confidence. It scared him too though, this easy friendship. It meant more to him than he was really willing to admit and he didn't want to lose it.

One afternoon, he had stopped by a local bakery to pick up some cakes for Bucky and Nat and had entered the shop to find them arguing heatedly over something. Steve's stomach had dropped a little - they never fought like this, they only ever squabbled. There was no-one else in the store, thankfully.

"I mean it, Buck," Nat hissed and jammed a finger into his chest. "I will never speak to you again if anything comes of this." She grunted at Steve and went out back. Steve heard the rear door of the store slam.

Bucky sighed and gave Steve a wan smile. "Hey. So...I fucked up."

Steve placed the cake box he was holding on the counter and opened it for Bucky who picked out the first thing he saw and started to eat it miserably.

"What happened?"

Bucky chewed. "It's all so stupid, it really is. You know Nat takes all these mixed martial arts classes and does all this crazy exercise shit, right?"

Steve nodded and picked up a coconut puff. "Yeah."

Bucky grimaced slightly. "Well, I kind of sent in an application on her behalf to American Ninja Warrior."

Steve couldn't hold back his smile of relief. " _That's_ what you guys were fighting about?"

"We were talking about it a couple of weeks ago and Nat kept going on about how amazing she'd be at it so I...kind of signed her up as a joke. But then she got an email from them this morning and just _exploded!_ I told her that nothing may come of it but she kept shouting about how much she doesn't want to be on TV and how if they picked her, she'd _have_ to do it because of some weird Russian pride." Bucky groaned and rubbed a sugary hand across his forehead.

"I'm sure she just needs some time to cool off," Steve said. "It's not like you did it with mean intentions, right?"

"Not at all!" Bucky cried. "That's just it - she'd be great! I'd have sent in an application for myself but I'm a string bean."

Steve almost protested but didn't. Bucky wasn't a string bean at all; he was lean but not skinny. "That show's pretty intense."

Bucky grinned. "I could always send in an application for you if you like."

Steve chuckled. "No. No thanks. I run every morning but I'm not in the shape I once was."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me." Steve barely even had a chance to process that comment. "You just run? Don't work out?"

"I tried going to the gym but it was weird. I got...really self-conscious. Don't do so well around a lot of people any more. So I run early in the mornings. I used to work out all the time in...in the military but I just lost interest I guess." He picked apart a cinnamon swirl to give his hands something to do, not sure that he even wanted to eat it.

Bucky was quiet for a minute. "You were in the military for a long time, huh," he asked softly.

Steve didn't look up at him. He thought that would have made it harder to answer. "Eight years. Four in the Marines. Four in Special Forces."

"Do you miss it?" Bucky asked.

Steve was surprised at the question. He thought for a moment. "I miss the camaraderie. I miss being with men that had my back no matter what and vice versa. I miss helping people. But...there's a lot I don't miss. I can't..." He dropped the remnants of the swirl back into the box and shakily wiped his hands on a napkin.

Bucky put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't have asked - "

Steve finally looked up. "It's okay. I'm just...I'm still working through a lot of stuff. Trying to."

Bucky nodded and smiled, his eyes gentle and reassuring. Steve wasn't sure what he felt in that moment. He passed Bucky a napkin.

"You have sugar all over your face," he said.

***

As good as the last month or so had been for him, Steve wasn't under any illusion that everything was fixed and hunky-dory. He still had nightmares; they weren't as bad as they had been but they still woke him up and left him awake until the early hours. He talked about them though, to Charles. He still couldn't talk to Sam.

At 2am one night, unable to get back to sleep, Steve opened his closet and pulled out the bag full of sketchbooks from the back that he had been avoiding looking through again. His heart started thumping and he was suddenly terrified about what might happen if he opened them. All those memories. But he had to do this; he couldn't pretend it didn't all happen and try and get on with his life. He sat against the wall and took one of the journals from the bag. They were all the same with hardback black covers. He flipped it open.

***

"I used to keep journals," Steve said. "During my tours."

Charles's eyebrows flicked up with interest. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Sketchbooks, observations. Nothing really personal. I've been too scared to look through them again but last night I got them out." He dug around in his bag and took one out, handing it to Charles.

Charles took it and started to open it but stopped and looked up at Steve. "May I?"

Steve nodded and watched as Charles flipped through the pages, smiling when something caught his interest. He grinned wider and held up the book. "I like this." It was a sketch of Dugan feeding seven stray dogs in Kabul.

"We were all softies for the dogs."

Charles continued flipping. He held up another page. Half of it was ripped out. The other half showed a detailed portrait of a grinning boy around eleven years-old. "Why is the page torn?"

Steve shuffled in his seat. "I used to draw portraits of the kids and give them away. They loved it. I could happily sit for hours and draw them. I never got the chance to give that little boy his picture." He swallowed hard, remembering.

Charles didn't ask why and closed the book. "How did it make you feel looking at these again?"

"Sad. Anxious but...happy too, I think. I drew the good things. It seems like I've only ever remembered the bad but there were a lot of good things too. The kids and the animals, the sunsets. There were a lot of kind people. I still wonder what happened to them."

"I think you need to find that balance. Whenever the bad stuff starts to creep up on you, try and counteract it with some good stuff." Charles held up Steve's journal. "I think you need to look at these more; these books are _you_ , Steve. Everything good about you is in these books - the way you see the world, the way you saw past the war and violence and focussed on the things that made being there worthwhile and gave what you were doing real meaning."

"I guess I never thought about it like that," Steve said softly.

Charles looked through the book again. "You're a remarkable man, Steve."

That night he slept and had good dreams.

***

Steve was helping out in the store again, putting out new books and tidying up the shelves as he went. Nat had tried again and again to offer him some money for his time but he refused. This wasn't about money. He knew it wasn't about pity on their part either; they both seemed to enjoy his company, even though for the most part he was fairly quiet. Nat had almost forgiven Bucky for the American Ninja Warrior application and they could joke about it now. They joked and talked about a lot of things. As soon as Steve had walked in that day, Nat started on her argument of Steve almost being a member of staff and how he deserved some kind of pay.

"Nat, he comes in here because he loves us and just being around us and how awesome we are is payment enough. Right, Steve?" Bucky said that morning and flashed Steve a brilliant smile.

"That's _exactly_ it," Steve replied and Nat just rolled her eyes. Bucky grinned at Steve again and everything was good.

Steve was putting away some art books and stopped to flip through one about Paul Klee. As he turned the pages, something just... _clicked_ in his brain and suddenly all he could hear was gunfire, Dugan screaming somewhere off to his left, phantom grit and debris peppering his face. His vision went white and he couldn't move, trapped and horrified and alone.

The next thing he knew, firm hands were on his shoulders and a voice was breaking through the white nose inside his head.

"Steve? Hey, come on buddy. You're okay." It was Sam.

Steve blinked and his vision finally started to clear. Sam was in front of him, his brown eyes full of concern and relief. Steve looked around, dazed. He was on the floor, crouched against one of the bookcases. The books he had been holding were scattered and crumpled on the floor. Over Sam's shoulder, he could see Nat and Bucky standing back, fear and alarm on their faces. Bucky looked like he wanted to cry.

"What..." Steve said. His voice felt thick. "Sam?"

Sam kept one hand on Steve's shoulder and brought the other up to his face, warm and firm on his jaw. "It's okay, take your time."

Steve couldn't help the sob that escaped him. "It was Chechnya," he managed. Behind Sam, someone made a strangled noise. It sounded like Bucky. "Sorry, I'm sorry..." he babbled over and over.

"Is he alright?" Nat asked softly. They were both still standing back, giving Steve and Sam plenty of room. The blind was down over the shop door.

Sam scooted closer to Steve. "PTSD," he said. "It...it hits people in different ways."

Steve tried to stand but Sam stopped him. "Steve, just sit for a while."

But everything was fuzzy and wrong and Steve could feel the tears on his face. "I want to go," he said, hating how small his voice sounded, the sharp pricks of humiliation starting to make their way through the veil of fear and panic.

Sam nodded. "Alright. Come on." He helped Steve to his feet and walked him across the store towards the door. Steve couldn't look at Bucky and Nat.

"We didn't know what to do," Nat said quietly to Sam.

Sam reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "You did good, calling me."

"Steve?" Bucky asked softly but Nat shook her head at him.

"Will you let us know if he's okay?" Nat asked. "He's kind of become a friend."

Sam smiled, tired but grateful. "I will."

They left the store and Sam drove Steve back to his apartment. Steve sat, blank faced and shaking for the short ride. When they were inside Steve's place, Sam made him sit on the couch and got him a glass of water. Steve just gripped the glass and took a few deep breaths.

"It was like I was there again," he finally said, his hands trembling. They wouldn't stop trembling.

Sam reached out and covered Steve's hands with his own. "I know."

"How...how long had I been...like that? In the store?"

"Around twenty minutes," Sam said. "Natasha called me at the VA."

Steve's heart sank. "I feel so stupid. I...in _front_ of them."

"Hey, hey. Don't do that. They were worried. They wanted to help. Would you rather it had happened on the street in front of a bunch of strangers?"

Steve wiped at his eyes. "I made them feel bad."

Sam frowned. "No, you didn't. Steve, you had a flashback. It couldn't be helped; it's...shit, I wish I could say it's normal but nothing about what we went through is normal. You're trying to deal with a lot of heavy crap and your brain isn't always going to help you out with that. That's what I'm here for and Charles too. Please don't do that thing where you blame yourself for everything and think that you can't reach out."

Steve wanted to hear Sam, he wanted to know that what he was saying made perfect sense. "I think I just want to sleep," he said, suddenly exhausted.

Sam watched him for a moment and then sighed. "Alright. When's your next appointment with Charles?"

"Tomorrow," Steve said but he already knew that he wasn't going to go.

"Promise me you'll go? Don't shut down. Not now. You've been doing so well."

Steve stood up, his legs still shaky. "I will." He hated lying to Sam. Also, Sam would see straight through him; he knew Steve was a terrible liar.

Sam hesitated. "I'll call you tomorrow. And you can call me. _Anytime_. Just...call me, please. If you need to."

"I will," Steve said again.

***

He spent the next three days in bed. He skipped his appointment with Charles and ignored his phone. Sam called and Steve texted back just so he wouldn't worry but he didn't want to talk. He didn't want to do anything. He tried not to sleep because he was scared of his dreams but when he was awake, his mind just replayed mission after mission, the choices he had made, the people he felt he had let down irrevocably. When he did sleep, purely because his body had to, his dreams were restless.

The humiliation started to bleed into the depression: He had made a complete fool of himself in front of Bucky and Nat, in the one place besides his apartment that made him feel safe and unafraid.

He received two concerned voicemails from Charles, asking him to please call. He deleted them. Sam was frustrated, he could tell, but he was trying to respect Steve's space and choices. He knew he would bring out the big guns soon but for now, Steve didn't want to know that the world was still out there.

He was jerked awake by his phone ringing yet again on the fourth morning of his withdrawal from everything. He looked at the screen and for one surreal moment, he was sure the number that was flashing up was Dugan's but Dugan had been dead for two years. Before Steve even knew what he was doing, he answered, fully expecting a ghost on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" His voice was heavy and cracked.

"Steve?" Not Dugan. "It's Bucky. Sam gave me your number. I...I hope you don't mind me calling." He sounded unsure.

Steve didn't know what to say. There was silence for a moment before Bucky spoke again.

"I just wanted to know that you were okay. I was so worried the other day. I just...shit. I felt so stupid - I had no idea what to _do_. I was going to call an ambulance but it was Nat who suggested the VA. She...I told her you had been in the military and she thought there might be someone there who knew you and then Sam came and..." He caught his breath. "I had no idea, about...what you must have gone through. I knew you had been through a rough time, but it never crossed my mind about...PTSD and when you just..." Steve's heart twisted remembering the noise Bucky had made in the store. "I'm so sorry, Steve."

"Don't. Please don't. There's nothing for you to apologize for."

Bucky was silent for a moment again. "Are you okay?"

Steve stared up at the ceiling, tears pricking his eyes. "I've been better."

"Um, look - I have the day off. Would you like to meet me for coffee?"

Steve let the tears roll down his face. Bucky went out of his way to make sure he was okay. He couldn't be angry at Sam for giving Bucky his number without his permission; he knew this was Sam's way of trying to help him out of his funk and that Sam may well have gone back to Red Room anyway. Steve didn't know if he could go though. Facing Bucky after what had happened -

"Please?" Bucky said softly.

It was the please that got him. Bucky sounded so sincere. Steve wiped the tears from his face and his breath hitched. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay."

"Good, that's...how about the little place near Red Room where we always get our coffee? In an hour?" Bucky sounded happy and relieved.

"I'll be there," Steve said.

They said goodbye and Steve got up, his back cracking painfully, a little unsteady on his feet. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning and he decided to try and have breakfast before meeting Bucky. He didn't want to end up passing out on him or worse. He padded through to the kitchen and put two slices of bread in the toaster before opening the blinds in the living room. It was a gorgeous day outside. He couldn't ignore everything, he knew that. It was just...so hard sometimes.

Steve ate his toast and immediately felt better. He took a long hot shower, trying to imagine the hurt and mortification of the last few days washing away down the drain. He didn't really have time to shave; almost four day's worth of blond stubble would have to do.

Steve sent Sam a text just before he left the apartment.

 **STEVE:** Meeting Bucky for coffee, will call Charles when I get back.

 **SAM:** Bucky seems like a good guy. Stay strong. Also, you owe me about $36, there were a lot of sorrys the other day.

***

Steve was apprehensive as he walked into the coffee shop and he knew he had no reason to be; he and Bucky were friends. There was no need for him to feel worried but his stomach was roiling anyway. He glanced around and saw Bucky in a booth at the back. He looked up and smiled, waving to Steve.

"I got you a drink already," Bucky said as Steve slid into the seat opposite.

"Thanks," he said and fiddled with the cuff of his jacket.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes.

"How are you feeling?" Bucky asked.

Steve poured sugar onto the table and poked it with his finger. "Embarrassed."

Bucky took a deep breath and seemed to be considering something. "Okay, I'm going to show you something that only a few other people know about. One of them being Nat."

Steve looked up at Bucky then. His face was set and a little grim and he unzipped his hoodie and started to take it off, glancing around nervously at the rest of the coffee shop. No-one was paying them any attention. Bucky pulled the left sleeve of his hoodie off, resting his arm on the table. Steve couldn't help but stare; there were several long scars that ran the length of Bucky's arm from his wrist and up under the sleeve of his t-shirt. The skin on them was puffy, discolored and gnarled, several smaller scars with similar raised skin snaking off from the bigger ones. It was very noticeable and Steve suddenly realized that he'd never seen Bucky wear short sleeves before; he always wore sweaters or long-sleeved shirts.

"I was in a car crash when I was thirteen," Bucky said. "Pretty much shattered my arm. I've got a ton of metal rods and plating in there - some real Terminator shit when you see it on an x-ray. This is all keloid scarring; the skin goes nuts and overgrows, kind of? It's not all that common. I've been embarrassed and paranoid about it for years. Never wear short sleeves, never go swimming. One time, I thought fuck it and took my sweater off on the beach and a woman came up to me - a grown woman - and asked me if I had a disease and if it was contagious because her kids were there. Kind of knocked any confidence I had into the ground." He looked like he wanted to put his hoodie back on but was holding back.

Steve looked up at him. "Does it hurt?"

Bucky chuffed. "It does all kinds of crap: Itches like hell in the summer, feels like constant pins and needles in the winter. The metal in my arm hates the cold too. One morning last November, I woke up and couldn't bend my arm at the elbow for a whole day. Nat had a lot of fun using me as a coat rack." He finally shrugged his hoodie back on. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, we all have crap that fucks us up and holds us back. I mean, I can't really compare this to what you've been through..."

"Don't say that," Steve said quietly. "I can see how hard it must be...to show people your arm."

"Mine's on the surface for everyone to see, but yours is underneath." Bucky reached across the table and put his hand over Steve's. "Don't ever feel like I would judge you for what happened the other day. Me or Nat. I just wish we could have done more."

Steve held Bucky's hand back, knowing then that he'd had feelings for Bucky from the day they had met, even if he hadn't quite admitted it to himself at the time. "Thank you. Everything just hit me the other day. I've got a therapist who's really good and I know in time, I can resolve a lot of stuff. But some things...will stay with me. I'm scared of them. How they might effect me."

"It's not something you have to go through alone, you know," Bucky said, his voice gentle and a little tentative. "I...uh...this is probably the worst possible time to say this but...I've liked you for a while. Since you first walked into the bookstore actually. I care about you a lot and...I want to help."

Steve smiled for the first time in three and a half days.

***

Steve's next session with Charles was tough; he talked about Dugan's death - how he knew he could have prevented it. The things that haunted him the most were the things he needed to talk about; he didn't want them to take him over the way they had that day in the bookstore.

"It took a lot of courage to talk about what you did today," Charles said.

Steve wrapped his hands around the fresh mug of tea Charles had just given him. He was drained but it was starting to feel like he was relieving himself of some of the pressure he had felt since coming home.

"Having the flashback the other day scared the hell out of me. I was lucky that I was in the bookstore when it happened. I had friends to help me. But...what if it happens again? Somewhere more public?" Steve said, chewing his lip.

Charles sighed sadly. "I wish I could say that it will never happen again but that's not a guarantee I can make. Who knows, maybe you won't have one again but you know you have friends who care about you and want to help you through it if it _does_ happen."

Steve smiled. "Yeah, I do. Things have progressed with Bucky. We're friends but I also have feelings for him."

Charles grinned. "That's good. Does he feel the same way?"

Steve blushed. "Yes. We met the other day and kind of told each other. We haven't been social outside of the bookstore though. I'm not really sure where we go from here. It's been a while for me but I think I want it."

"So ask him out! Seize the day! There's no time like the present!"

Steve laughed. "Thank you for your enthusiasm."

"What can I say; I'm a romantic."

***

When Steve walked into the bookstore the next day, his heart in his throat, Nat was behind the counter and immediately came over to him and gave him a hug that almost winded him which was impressive, considering that she was a lot shorter and slimmer than he was.

"I'm so happy you're okay," she said and Steve hugged her back.

"Thanks, Nat."

She pulled away. "Bucky just went to the bank. He'll be back soon."

"I don't just come in here for Bucky, you know," Steve said.

Nat rolled her eyes and went back behind the counter. "Oh please. Of course you do." She laughed when Steve immediately turned bright red. "You know he's been goo-goo for you since the first day you came in here? Wouldn't stop talking about you and I haven't heard the end of it: "Steve said this, Steve does that, Steve's so cute, blah blah blah Steve."

Steve's heart started to beat even faster, even though he knew Bucky liked him but hearing it from Nat was something else. He cleared his throat. "Oh."

Nat grinned. "Yeah, _oh_ indeed. He's a great guy, Steve. That's my personal recommendation."

They both turned to look when the store door opened and Bucky walked in, smiling brightly but a little nervously when he saw Steve. "Hey," he said softly.

Steve held up his hand in response, not trusting that he wouldn't sound like a pre-pubescent boy if he answered.

Bucky dumped a bag loudly onto the counter in front of Nat. "Your change. It weighs a ton."

Nat took the bag and headed out the back. "You need to build up those scrawny biceps anyway." She closed the door behind her with a prominent click.

Bucky rubbed his upper arm. "They're not that scrawny."

"So I read The Stepford Wives," Steve said, eager for anything to say.

"Oh yeah?"

"It was really sad. Why do you keep giving me books that are sad?"

Bucky laughed. "I just give you books that I think will make you feel something. It's working isn't it?"

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, it's working."

"Have dinner with me," Bucky suddenly blurted. "I cook really good spaghetti and meatballs. I know that sounds lame but it's a great recipe. I got it from my grandma. She wasn't Italian or anything, she just cooked really good meatballs. I've kind of added things to the recipe but it's...oh god, please stop me. Just say yes or no and make me stop talking about meatballs." He looked at Steve, mortified and expectant.

Steve started to laugh; he couldn't help it. All the bad stuff from the last week suddenly seemed far away and hazy in the light of this guy who gave him books to read and made him smile. He knew it would take a while until he got a handle on the bad stuff if he ever would but he had Sam and Charles and Nat and Bucky in his life. They all cared about him in different ways and he thought that could help to piece him back together, in time.

"I would like to have dinner with you. Very much."

Bucky grinned. "Great. For the record, I really _do_ cook great meatballs. That's something I refuse to be modest about."

***

Steve followed the directions to Bucky's place the next afternoon. He lived in a nice apartment building in Brooklyn on the top floor. Steve huffed a little as he walked up the last flight of stairs and straightened his shirt before knocking on the door.

Bucky answered wearing jeans and a short-sleeved black shirt, the first Steve had ever seen him in. He knew that Bucky had worn it out of trust: He didn't care about Steve's baggage and he didn't want Steve to care about his. They could be open and honest about themselves and never have to hide who they were.

"Hey! Come on in. I haven't started cooking yet; I thought you could come and sit and talk to me while I did." He stepped aside to let Steve in; his apartment was small but comfortable. Steve could see a door leading out onto a small roof terrace.

"I like your place. And you have a terrace - hard to come by in this area."

Bucky chuffed. "It's more of a ledge than a terrace but I'll show you in a bit; I grow some herbs and stuff out there. Can I get you a drink? I don't really do alcohol but I got some wine in case you did."

Steve shook his head. "I'm good. I've kind of stopped drinking for the time being too. I'll have whatever you're having."

"I'm terrible with wine so that's a relief," Bucky walked through into the little kitchen area and indicated for Steve to sit on one of the chairs at the island.

"I'm really sorry; I didn't think to bring anything like dessert," Steve said.

"I made dessert, don't worry about that," Bucky said with a smile. "I like to spoil people when they come over for dinner."

Steve smiled back and took a sip of the lemonade that Bucky had given him. "I brought a couple of my sketchbooks with me. If you think you might want to have a look." He had packed and unpacked them several times, debating whether or not to bring them at all.

Bucky stopped what he was doing. "I'd love to."

Steve reached down and pulled one of the journals out of his bag and handed it to Bucky. He watched Bucky's face as he looked through the book.

"Holy shit, Steve. This is amazing," he finally said, eyes still on the pages. "Are you still thinking about going into art therapy?"

Steve gave a little nod. "It's been on my mind a lot."

"I think you should do it," Bucky said softly.

"Kind of need to get my own shit together first but I think I want to."

Bucky smiled at him and Steve didn't think he'd ever get fed up of the sight. He handed Steve back his journal. "Can I look at the other one after dinner?"

"Of course," Steve said, a warmth settling in his chest.

Bucky walked over to the terrace door. "Come on - I'll show you the one tiny bit of outdoors that I own."

Steve followed Bucky outside and couldn't help but laugh; it really was little more than a ledge with a wall. Several plant pots were lined up against the brick, exposed enough to get some sun during certain parts of the day but sheltered from the wind.

"All of these are edible," Bucky said, bending down and snapping some Rosemary from one of the pots. "I can't seem to grow anything else that doesn't die within a few weeks. These guys do okay though." He straightened up and crushed a couple of the Rosemary leaves between his fingers. "I love this smell." He handed the sprig to Steve.

Steve sniffed the herb and it was rich and comforting. Bucky was watching him with that little sleepy half smile he seemed to wear and Steve stepped forward and kissed him, a soft warm kiss that just lasted a few seconds. When he pulled away, Bucky was smiling wide and he leaned forward and brought his lips back to Steve's again. The day was mild and bright and they kissed each other on the roof, the smell of Rosemary between them.

***

Steve sat and watched as Bucky cooked and chattered away, laughing at his jokes and occasionally helping to cut some tomatoes or dice some onions. This was easy and comfortable; he hadn't had anything like this for so long, something so uncomplicated and free. He kept thinking about Bucky's soft lips and how warm he had felt against him, how he wanted that every day.

They ate dinner and it really was the best spaghetti and meatballs Steve had ever tasted.

"You're just saying that," Bucky said with a big toothy grin.

"I'm a terrible liar - you can ask my friend Sam."

Bucky laughed and nudged his foot against Steve's under the table. "I'll cook it for you whenever you want. Just say the word."

Dessert was raspberry sorbet which was sweet and sharp. Afterwards, Steve helped Bucky load the dishwasher. Bucky was drying his hands on a hand towel and even though Steve was still a little apprehensive, excitement and exhilaration overrode the tension and he slipped his arms around Bucky's waist. Bucky sighed happily and turned around, looping his own arms around Steve's neck.

"I...I can't promise that things will be easy with me," Steve said quietly.

Bucky's face softened and he kissed Steve on the cheek. "I would never ask you to promise me anything. Steve, I like you for _you_ , your past included. We'll work through it. You're worth it."

Steve buried his face in Bucky's shoulder and grasped him tightly. "You've already done so much for me."

Bucky lightly ran his fingers through Steve's hair. "Like I said, I'll cook you meatballs any time you want."

Steve huffed out a wet laugh and faced Bucky again. Bucky wiped the tears from Steve's face with a soft smile. "Want to snuggle on the couch and watch Blade Runner?"

Steve nodded, happier than he had been for a long time.

***

The next few months were full of ups and downs for Steve; he made progress with his therapy, he was working harder on his friendship with Sam. He had good days and bad days but through them all was Bucky. Bucky's patience, gentleness and humor helped Steve through the worst patches: The nights where he still woke, unsure if the screams he had heard had been in his dreams or were his own. Bucky would just hold him, not saying a word, being there for him.

Steve spent a lot of time in the bookstore, helping out, making lunch and coffee runs. He felt needed in the bookstore.

Charles was helping him look into what he needed to study art therapy. It would take time and hard work but Steve was ready to make a new life for himself. Every day was hard, something new to face but at the end of it all was Bucky, waiting for him outside of the bookstore if Steve was coming to meet him or turning up at Steve's place in the evening with a bag of groceries and something good for dinner. Their relationship was slow and sweet and one morning, Steve woke up, watching Bucky sleep beside him, mouth open, a patch of drool on the pillow - Bucky wasn't a cute sleeper - and he knew he was in love.

***

"God, I'm so nervous. Where's my binder?" Steve ran over to Bucky's coffee table and rummaged through the magazines and books piled on top.

"I saw you put it in your bag fifteen minutes ago. Stevie, calm down," Bucky said with a smile and pulled Steve over to the kitchen island. "Sit, drink some water and eat an orange. "You'll be fine. I'm not just saying that."

Steve gulped down the glass of water and shoved a segment of orange into his mouth. "It feels like my first day of school all over again."

Bucky went to the refrigerator and chuckled. "It _is_ your first day of school." He pulled out a brown lunch bag and plopped it in front of Steve. "Which is why I made you a nice lunch. My little Stevie, all grown up and off to college!"

Steve finally smiled and batted Bucky on the arm. Despite being 6"2, Bucky had taken to calling him "My Little Stevie" any chance he got, mainly to make Steve roll his eyes.

"You made me lunch?" Steve said, taking a minute to gaze at his boyfriend.

Bucky walked around the island and hugged Steve from behind. "I like spoiling you. I'll come with you if you want? Just to see you in?"

Steve turned around and kissed Bucky softly. "I'll be okay. It's silly - I _know_ I'll be fine. I just haven't done anything like this for a long time."

"You're going to go to college, become an art therapist and help people. That's the plan, remember?"

"I remember," Steve said and kissed Bucky again, more insistently this time. Even though they had been sleeping in the same bed for a while, they still hadn't made love. Neither of them were in a hurry and Steve knew it would happen at the right time.

When he pulled away, Bucky looked a little dazed. "Mmmm. Are you sure you don't want to stay home instead?"

Steve laughed softly and kissed Bucky again. "The plan, remember?"

Bucky grabbed Steve's messenger bag and put his lunch inside. "I know, I know. Now get going. Learn stuff, make friends. I'll cook us dinner tonight."

They walked to the apartment door and Steve leaned against it before stepping out into the hall. "I love you, Buck."

Bucky kissed him, smelling of shower gel and tasting like orange juice. "I love you, Steve. See you later."

Steve smiled and closed the door behind him. He walked down the building stairs and out onto the street. He was heading into something new and exciting and scary but Bucky would be there when he got back. He would always be there.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Things have been really hectic lately with work and real-life and this took a lot longer to write than I had hoped. I'm not sure what I think about it but hopefully you enjoyed it!
> 
> I'm so terrible at coming up with titles; I'm obsessed with a band called GUNSHIP at the moment and the fic title is from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UiJJctsAjVo) song. They're awesome - give them a listen.


End file.
